


hands that map a communion

by evcndiaz



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: (Buck and Eddie smoke a joint), (No beta), (not really but tagging just in case), Canon Compliant, Eddie has a thing for Buck's hands, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Angst, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Rated M for Imagery of War, Rated M for Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, that's it that's the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evcndiaz/pseuds/evcndiaz
Summary: "War was safe in a way. In war, he knew what to expect. In war, people wanted him dead, a cacophonous symphony of explosions and blood, bullets and battered bodies being rushed off the field.War was easy.Eddie knows the sound of violence better than he knows his own voice. Knows it like a song he’s played so many times it’s burned into all the ruts and curves of his brain like a scar. Because it’s always been easier to sew on a severed limb under a spray of bullets, heart in is throat, than it is to look at someone he’s hurt and beg them to open up their heart up to his wreckage again. So yeah, war was easy. But this thing with Buck feels like a war in itself, only it’s not easy. It’s fucking brutal. Every step feels like a minefield, feels like being one step away from being blown to bits."or; eddie has a thing for buck, and also buck's hands
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 192
Collections: _private_





	hands that map a communion

**Author's Note:**

> i thought about eddie holding buck's hand when he was trapped under the firetruck and then this happened
> 
> title is taken from "profane" by ashe vernon.

He has a thing for Buck’s hands.

A _thing_. Such a stupid, juvenile thing to call it but Eddie’s been going over it in his mind over and over again, and he still doesn’t know how to put it.

A fetish? No. A kink? Not really.

He just has a thing for Buck’s hands. How gentle they are, how warm they are. The way they fit between his—long fingers slotted into the gaps of his own like they’re meant to be there. He has a thing for the way Buck gestures when he’s excited and talking a mile a minute, hands flapping around like he can somehow take his words from thin air, mold them into something bite-sized and digestible, and make whoever’s listening finally understand him.

He’s so fucking fascinating, is the thing. Eddie loves watching him, sometimes (most times) even when Buck isn’t aware that he’s watching him. Sometimes, they’ll be on a call, sweat pouring down his skin, lungs burning with exertion, and he’ll catch Buck out of the corner of his eye—waving people through, picking up little kids by the armpits and passing them off to their parents. He’s distracting and beautiful. It’s almost a problem.

Don’t get him wrong, when he’s on a call, Eddie is completely present, completely in the moment. He gives 110% to his job every damn day because he’d want someone else to do the same if it were his life or his son’s life on the line. But sometimes his eyes can’t help but flicker in Buck’s direction. Sometimes he can’t help but drink in the sight of him, like he’d die if he missed even one second of Buck being Buck.

It’s embarrassing. If anyone, absolutely anyone, caught wind of the soppy shit Eddie thinks about Buck all hours of the day, he’d have to lock himself in the house and never come out. Not agoraphobic, just stupid and humiliated beyond belief. But he’s gone for this man, so far gone he can’t even see his way out anymore, and that’s terrifying, because with every woman he’s ever been with, Eddie’s always had an exit plan. A _pull lever here in case of emergencies_ plan. An _I don’t think this is working out, it’s not you, it’s me_ plan. Even with Shannon, when things got rough, where would you find him but on a plane headed back to the war. Because war was safe in a way. In war, he knew what to expect. In war, people wanted him dead, a cacophonous symphony of explosions and blood, bullets and battered bodies being rushed off the field.

War was easy.

Eddie knows the sound of violence better than he knows his own voice. Knows it like a song he’s played so many times it’s burned into all the ruts and curves of his brain like a scar. Because it’s always been easier to sew on a severed limb under a spray of bullets, heart in is throat, than it is to look at someone he’s hurt and beg them to open up their heart up to his wreckage again. So yeah, war was easy. But this thing with Buck feels like a war in itself, only it’s not easy. It’s fucking brutal. Every step feels like a minefield, feels like being one step away from being blown to bits.

Eddie gets stuck in his head sometimes about the whole thing. This whole, new, petrifying thing. He doesn’t know when Buck started to know him well enough to be able to tell when he was getting lost in himself, but sometimes Buck will call him back with a hand on his arm, his warm palm on his back, his thumb sweeping back and forth over his shoulder blade.

Those fucking hands again. Everything always comes back to those hands, doesn’t it? Hands that have hugged him and held him, comforted him when he felt like his world was going to collapse. Hands that have cradled his son with protective gentleness. Hands that have gotten him off more than a few times, his own fingers digging into the sheets as Buck worked him to completion over and over again.

What is it about those hands that makes Eddie never want to let go of them? That makes him want to keep them wrapped in his own, safe and protected from all the things that ruin and scar?

“You’re so fucking romantic,” Buck says.

His voice is lazy and slow, courtesy of the joint they’ve been passing back and forth. Buck kisses his way down his sternum, taking time to bite a mark into the jut of his hip.

Eddie closes his eyes. “I’m not romantic, I’m manly.”

Buck snorts. He looks up from his place between Eddie’s thighs. “I’m not sure if you know this, but those things can and do coexist.”

“Shut up and get up here.”

Eddie reaches for him and Buck puts his hand in his, because he knows what he needs right now. Knows what he wants. Buck presses another kiss to his hip and then he’s moving, straddling Eddie’s waist and wrapping a hand around his throat. Squeezing but not hard enough to cut off his breathing. Tight, but not tight enough to hurt. It just rests there like an anchor, sinking down, down to the bottom of the sea.

Eddie opens his eyes. Buck is already staring back at him, eyes so serious and pretty Eddie wants to take a picture. Wants to show it off to everyone who will pay attention. _Look what I get to come home to_ , he’d say. _Look at this beautiful fucking man who keeps wasting his time with me. Look at what I’ve got._ But he doesn’t have a camera, or his phone, nor does he have the courage even if he did have those things, so he just holds Buck’s gaze and hopes his eyes say everything his mouth can’t.

“What are you thinking about?” Buck asks.

“You terrify me.”

It’s not an answer but it is. Buck’s hand tightens around his throat. Eddie knows Buck can feel his pulse, can feel his heartbeat banging around and clanging for attention, but Buck doesn’t move.

Buck bends over until his lips are hovered above Eddie’s, until he’s so close Eddie could probably suck his bottom lip into his mouth, and whispers, “That makes two of us.”

“I want everything with you.”

“Then take it.”

When Buck’s mouth meets his, it feels like a greeting, like a declaration, like a promise. _Hello, I love you, please be mine forever_.

“Yes,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s mouth. “ _Yes_.”

That hand tightens around his throat. Buck’s other hand grabs for his wrist, pins it above his head, and then they just kiss, and kiss, and kiss until Eddie feels stupid with it.

This thing is so new between them. So gentle and fragile, he’s almost scared he’ll break it. But then Buck pulls back and looks at him, and there’s a line of saliva still connecting their lips, and Buck looks flushed and pretty and perfect, and Eddie knows without a shadow of a doubt, that Buck simply won’t let him break it. Whatever this is, whatever it turns out to be, Buck won’t let him shatter it, because he’ll be holding onto it just as carefully, right beside him.

Eddie drags his thumb across Buck’s bottom lip. “I love the hell out of you.”

Buck’s smile unfurls like a daffodil turning its petals to the sun. “Yeah?” He bends down and nips his lip. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“ _Again_.”

“I love you.” Eddie surges up to meet Buck’s lips again. Kisses him until Buck moans like he’s dying. “I love you, and I always will.”

“You better.” Buck nuzzles his cheek with his nose, so gentle, so affectionate Eddie wants to sob. “Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

No, he’s not, is he? He’s proved that a thousand times over, Eddie would be stupid not to believe him. He swallows thickly. Feels his Adam’s apple bob up to meet Buck’s hand.

“Yeah. Just don’t let go of me.” he whispers.

“Never,” Buck swears.

And he never does.

**Author's Note:**

> @evcndiaz on tumblr! chat at me


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